


Drabbles of the 00Q Variety

by batmobiled



Category: James - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Drabbles, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmobiled/pseuds/batmobiled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshot 00Q drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are all based off of prompts I received on Tumblr.  
> Hope you Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q. In a Russian sex club, as an assistant to gather info, Q is tied up in a shimmery fishnet shirt without his glasses. Bond comes to the rescue. (Bonus points if you genderswap Bond for funsies and have her torment her quartermaster with stilettos.) I AM NOT SORRY FOR THIS PROMPT.

\---

The worst thing about fishnet is that it's totally breathable. As Q lies on a table in a back room in some shoddy club in Russia, it's one of the many things racing through his mind. It's cold and his body does not like it, shivering violently his voice breaks the silence of the empty room.

"Anytime you could get me out of here would be lovely," he says angrily pulling at the ropes tying him to the table "I can't even see a bloody thing."

His radio had stopped working, instead buzzing a steady stream of white-noise into his ear. He can only hope that someone on the other end can hear him. Everything is a blur and the agent he was supposed to be assisting is nowhere to find. He stares around the room blindly, his glasses somewhere on a table to his left.

"Please tell 004 that the next time he logs into his computer it will be so riddled with viruses that the only use for it will be as a paperweight." He spits out but hears nothing but silence in response, he's beginning to think he's going mad.

He keeps straining against the ropes restraining his hands and feet but every single time he does it causes him to flinch, his wrist raw and reddened from tugging and wrenching his arms for the past few hours. His entire body is groaning in protest as he turns his head towards the small door in the corner of the room.

There is a click-clacking sound resounding down the hall and he is preparing himself for the worst. He struggles against his bonds in a last ditch effort to escape, but it's in vain. He can hear the door creaking open, the ancient hinges exhausted by the effort. He hears the click-clack of the heels and his entire body tenses, eyes desperately trying to focus.

The person walks towards him and trails one manicured index finger along his abdomen, leading across to his back where it rests before quickly pulling away.

"You have a tattoo," she whispers with her body now pressed closely to his, her lips dangerously near to his ear "I didn't take you for the type."

"007?" Q wrenches his neck around, instantly alert and focussed on her voice "They sent you?"

There are so many more questions he should have asked, but his mind had actively stopped working as of five seconds ago. The sound of Bond's sultry tone in his ear had been so surprising, his entire body had suddenly relaxed and his physical response had been one of utter and complete compliance. He was puzzled at his body's physical response but turns in the direction of Bond nonetheless.

"Would you mind handing me my glasses Bond?" he says with his head motioning jerkily to the side where he can only assume his glasses are located.

She sidles over to the table and then with her altogether too gentle hands, pushes his glasses onto his face. Suddenly everything is much clearer and he stares at the woman in front of him, jaw very nearly dropping.

Her hair is long and blonde, eyes such a sharp blue they'd be able to slice you apart with a glance. A long black dress with a slit up the side adorns her body, exposing her long leg. She is lean and powerful and he can see the definition in her form without even looking for it, every subtle swell of curves and line of muscle. She glides toward him, dominant and ethereal all at once and his mouth has suddenly gone dry.

He's only seen Bond around the office, in her perfectly tailored suits. He knew of her track record for resurrection and rebellion, memorized her file before their first meeting. Yet she'd still completely surprised him in every possible way, and was very obviously continuing to do so.

"There you are," she smiles at him, sharp and predatory "you look much better with those on dear."

She walks around the room and surveys it, taking in each subtle detail within moments before glancing back at him through her eyelashes. She dissects him with little emotion and takes in his full appearance, the way he's shivering, the non-existent shirt that conceals no parts of his body. She smiles, and it's that smile again, the one Bond gets when she's going to torment him.

"So, how did you find yourself in this state?" she asks as she begins to circle him, like a lion would her immobilized prey.

"004 decided that running off and leaving me here was the best option for the mission," he grimaces and cranes his neck with a grimace "if they'd known who I was, this would have been an absolute disaster."

"Yes, they wouldn't have simply tied you up here to have a little fun," she tugs very gently on one of the ropes "you'd be tortured within an inch of your life to give up MI-6 secrets."

"Yes Bond, I'm aware of that," he says with as much conviction as he can possibly muster "now would you mind untying me?"

She studies him and all he can do is follow her with his eyes, until suddenly she's beside him, crouched down so her lips are dangerously close to his ear.

"I enjoy you like this though," she whispers trailing her finger down his neck and seems to enjoy the shiver that races through Q "tied up and so very vulnerable."

Q freezes, inexplicably frozen in place with a shocked expression working its way onto his face. He turns his head to stare at her, for the first time he notes the long black stiletto boots she's wearing.

"Come now Bond," he says with a shiver as he tries to sound stern and commanding but the crack in his voice betrays him "p-please let me out."

Bond lets out a long suffering sigh and without much warning she places her stiletto heal onto the short table that Q is tied to.

"Only if you lick my shoe," she says huskily as she stares at Q with a ferocious lust present deep within those ocean-tossed irises "like a good boy."

Q's entire face has gone beet red, he can feel the mortification roiling in the pit of his stomach. But there's something else there as well, an intense arousal that's slowly working its way through his veins and down to his groin. His eyes dart up to where Bond is staring at him expectantly, as if to urge him on to the task at hand.

He cranes his neck to reach, his mouth delicately placed on the sleek black heel. Pressing his tongue through his lips, he slowly licks the length of Bond's stiletto. He can feel his arousal through his trousers, straining against the fabric there.

Then suddenly it's over and before he can think of how it's happened, he is untied and standing. He rubs his raw wrists and looks up to Bond, who is all businesslike now and adjusting her dress to pull out her gun. She smiles at him, and he swears he sees a mischievous twinkle in those eyes.

"Follow me Q," she says as she cocks her gun and opens the door a crack to peek through into the long hall "well, if you want to live I mean."

And he follows her, he suspects he would follow her anywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompt : 00q and and a little bit homophobic reaction other people. Thanks 3

\---

It's whispered to him in the halls of MI6, a place where his intellect and ingenuity had always been the only thing anyone had ever cared to mention. He whips his head around to catch the perpetrator, half-hoping to have had imagined it entirely in his head. But there, down the hall, are two figures walking in the direction of the cafeteria. They are laughing in an altogether too predatory way, so Q keeps walking with his head lowered to stare at a point only slightly above his feet.

"Faggot" he whispers to himself, as if repeating the word aloud to himself will somehow banish it altogether from his troubled mind. As if repeating a curse could somehow lift it from him.

It wasn't as if he'd never been bullied before, his formative years had been spent in near-constant torment. However, they had merely been ignorant, weak minded children attacking the easiest target which just so happened to be a little boy who's glasses were always a little too large for his face, one who had always preferred sitting inside taking apart and putting back computers than playing football.

The word itself was still new to him, he'd graduated far past his peers before they could even fathom to question what sexuality was.

He puzzled over the word, rolling it over in his mind, as if to examine every possible meaning and curvature of its structure. It sat in his mind as if it were somehow a complex code he could analyze and take apart, as if doing so could make it unlock hidden depths. The word refused to cooperate, instead obstinately refusing to reveal anything of any merit.

He found himself in front of his section, the familiar bulletproof glass the only barrier between him and his second home. His department was a place completely his own, the furnishings and equipment all handpicked especially by him to his exact specifications. He normally strides in with at least a hundred different problems in his head, barking orders to his underlings. But today he simply walks in noiselessly, and takes a quiet seat at his desk. His minions are confused, unused to this silent quartermaster they stare at him with trepidation. He doesn't notice.

He simply gets to work putting the finishing touches on a new weapon for an agent. He'd had Bond in mind when he'd created it. The small pen casing housed up to 20 micro explosives, able to be detonated remotely at the command of the agent holding it. It was Bond's bloody exploding pen. He smiled to himself.

At that exact moment, the agent in question ambled in with his usual charismatic smile. Sighting his quartermaster, he walked up and sat right on his desk on top of numerous papers with a practiced ease.

"Hello Q," he says looking at the object was tinkering with in his hands "is that for me?" he looks at Q with a slightly muted version of an expression that would not look out of place on a child on Christmas morning. A chuckle rumbles through him "Exploding pen?" he notes with the memory of their first meeting lingering in his thoughts.

Then Bond notes the expression on Q's face for the first time since he had walked in, a completely preoccupied and altogether unusual look to his features.

"Do you think I'm a fag?" Q asks with no intonation except the casual lilt of the question.

Bond freezes and looks to Q with a dangerous expression, one that shows exactly how lethal he is.

"Who called you that?" he asks with poison lacing each syllable, the promise of retribution in the clenching of his fists.

"I don't know," Q says honestly "I only saw their backs…" by that point he had abandoned all pretense of working on the gadget and was instead staring up at Bond with an inquisitive look.

Bond silently swears to himself that he will find those men, and he will hurt them. But for now, he had a distressed Quartermaster to attend to.

"Those people were small minded idiots, as you are already probably aware." Without really thinking about it, Bond put a hand on Q's shoulder since his training and charm seemed to have failed him and he had no idea what to say. He went for honesty, "They were wrong."

"Not really," said Q with something resembling his normal smarmy tone "I'm just attempting to process why they think it's some sort of insult. My boyfriend is much more attractive than their ugly little girlfriends any day…"

Bond was surprised at first then burst into laughter at Q's offhand comment. He leaned down and kissed Q with a smile on his lips.

"Why yes, yes I am." He said with a soft look in his eyes that only Q seemed to be able to achieve. "Though it isn't like you to stroke my ego." He runs a hand through Q's hair.

"Yeah, yeah." Q says waving him off but he's smiling as he goes back to his computer.

Bond kisses the top of his head once more before walking out to report for his next mission.

And if anyone noticed that two rather new recruits to MI6 had somehow landed themselves in the hospital, then no-one mentioned it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q Prompt: Q tries to cook a romantic dinner as a surprise for James. Chaos ensues.

There is something wrong with Q's fire-alarm, which he had promptly discovered when it refused to shut off, possibly because he'd set something on fire. His instincts allowed him to quickly put out the flames, but now he is stuck with the loud beeping of the alarm ringing through his head. He tried to fan the bloody thing, even tried climbing up to pull it out of the ceiling. This was exactly how Bond found him when he ran into the room. Standing on a chair brandishing a butter-knife, a panicked expression on his face.

"What are you doing?" Bond shouts over the beeping noise "You nearly gave me a heart attack." pausing as the noise finally ceases he glances to the stove where a now blackened pot sits. "And what on earth is that?"

"I was…trying to cook dinner." says Q glancing at the blackened pot with a wince.

"What in god's name persuaded you to do that?" he says as he strides over and looks into the charcoal remains that were once Q's best pot.

Q hops off the chair and pushes it out of the way before beginning to nervously fiddle with the electric kettle. He mumbles something to himself with his back turned on Bond.

"I'm sorry what was that?" says Bond with a small smile as he walks up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"I said," he looks crossly at Bond with red rising to his cheeks "It is our anniversary, James."

"Ohhh," he smiles and plants a kiss on the other man's neck "and who was it that said 'anniversaries are an antiquated tradition with no real merit to modern society'?"

"I have no recollection of saying such things James." He says and turns around to plant a kiss to Bond's face.

Bond is thoroughly distracted and presses Q to the counter. What follows has both of them lying on the floor of the kitchen a few hours later, sweat clinging to their bodies and the blackene pot lays forgotten on the stove.

They decide to order take-away


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 00Q prompt: Q's boyfriend beats him. Bond finds out. One day, he comes home to find blood on the carpet and a very self-satisfied 007 with a knife in his hands.

\---

Bond is just sitting there when Q first opens his front door, cleaning a small blade in his hand. With a sharp intake of breath, Q immediately notices the small puddle of a thick crimson liquid directly beside his coffee table. Pressing a horrified hand over his mouth, he wars with the urge to vomit. He loses that battle, and runs to the kitchen, emptying the contents of his stomach into his rubbish bin.

He stands shakily and walks back into the room, determined to find the answers to every muddled question racing through his mind. Bond is still sitting there, seeming utterly determined to cleanse every minuscule drop of blood from his knife, as if it would tarnish it forever. Q is at a loss for what to do, he is frozen in place before something inside him snaps and words bubble out from his lips. "What have you done?" he shouts "Where is Ethan?" realizing that he already knows the answer, he looks down at his shaking hands.

Bond has meticulously finished wiping every ruby droplet off of his knife before he finally replies with a simple "He's not here anymore." And he stands to leave.

Q doesn't know what do, he knows that Bond is deadly and the situation was entirely baffling. He sits on his couch, and expects that Bond will leave in a rush. He places his hands over his eyes, but when he doesn't hear the expected noise from the door he looks up to see Bond staring at him with a quizzical expression on his face.

"I don't understand," confused he stands ram-rod straight with his knife sheathed in his pocket "he beat the shit out of you…regularly. I had to _watch him do it_." His voice increases in volume with every word, hands curling into fists.

"That was none of your business!" enraged Q grabs the first thing his hands touch and throws it forcefully across the room in Bond's general direction, Bond ducks skillfully but makes no move to leave. A dark expression flashes over his face and it is not the first time Q is reminded exactly how dangerous he is. He remembers that dark look flitting across Bond's face the last time he had seen him, when his boyfriend Ethan had been kicking the living shit out of him. Bond had rushed in an instant, pulling Ethan off and prepared to shoot him point-blank before Q had begged him not to. He had promised he would kick Ethan out, but things had been so good after that.

"He wasn't some target you could just shoot Bond," said Q numbly "he was my boyfriend and it wasn't your place to get rid of him." He feels tears beginning to form, but chokes them back.

"He was an asshole," Bond says before he finally heads to the door "and I was only following orders. At the rate things were escalating, he would have killed you." Bond pauses at the door, hand on the knob "I was ordered to protect you," he looks right at Q with an unreadable expression "and that is exactly what I did." He looks like he wants to say more, but his face becomes blank and he walks out the door.

Q is left in his dark apartment, completely alone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt/ James gets back results from a pysch eval and is infuriated with what the shrink had written about him. Q has a look and has to calm the agent down because actually, he'd noticed all the things listed too. (i was thinking perhaps ptsd related things and/or depression)

Bond was not one to allow himself to display his anger; it usually presented itself in a more lethal way than simple shouting. However, when he first read the long list that was his psych evaluation, he very much had to resist the urge to shout. He had made the grave mistake of glancing over the shoulder of his Quartermaster when he'd gone to pick up a gadget and saw the screen with a long list of strikes against him, each symptom reading out in his mind like a personal infraction on his name.

"Rage issues, extreme anxiety coupled with near crippling paranoia, suicidal tendencies, all stemming from not only childhood trauma but most likely the death of loved one or significant other." Reading through it without an ounce of emotion wheedling in to his tone, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes narrowed into thin slits.

The list went on but Bond skipped to the bottom where the MI6 hired shrink had written his recommendation, though he noted that Q has frozen beside him. "Recommend immediate termination," he paused and took a long breath "Subject is far too dangerous to be taking on missions, too volatile for field work." he grabbed the back of Q's chair and spun it around.

"My paranoia is what keeps me alive," he hisses at Q, he's aware that it is not Q who he should be lashing out at but feels the need to say it nonetheless "and my fucked up past is the only reason I wound up here in the first place." He motions to their surroundings and looks at Q's face, his blue eyes seeming to glow in rage and his jaw clenched tight.

"It's- It's just one psych evaluation 007," he says in an attempt to calm the other man with the near homicidal expression on his face "It was done months ago, and clearly you weren't terminated so I don't see the issue." he stands up and walks to pour himself a cup of tea. He wishes Bond hadn't been behind him when he was checking personnel files, this was monumentally disastrous.

"Which begs the question," he pressed his fingers to his forehead and looked penetratingly at Q "why did you feel the need to dredge this up?" he was very angry.

"I have to," he said with only a moment's hesitation, staring into Bond's piercing eyes before "It was…necessary for me to view this before deploying you on your next assignment." He ran a shaky hand through his hair and thought on how he wanted to phrase the next words. "It is an incredibly…volatile mission and I just needed to know if you could handle it." He stared at the destructive man with part trepidation part fascination.

"So you dredged up my past, a part of me that I would rather never have to deal with," he took a deep breath and his body nearly vibrated out of his skin with fierce rage "SO THAT YOU COULD MAKE SURE I COULD HANDLE MY JOB!" He roared out, his face inches from Q's. "You had no right!"

"I had every right!" Q yelled matching Bonds intensity and volume and standing straighter too "I deemed that you weren't fit for this particular mission from these files, it would be far too personal for you." He did not think for a second that Bond could handle it without reverting back to the mindless killing machine he once was. He was unsure why he cared so much but he did, he turned his face away to hide the traitorous blood rising to his cheeks.

Bond felt immediately ashamed of himself, he didn't enjoy losing control the way he had. He moved away from Q and placed a hand on his head, beginning to pace like an animal trapped in a cage.

"Bond. BOND! JAMES!" cried Q as the double-o agent had continued pacing without any response whatsoever. Bond jumped as if Q had completely caught him unawares and Q saw the look of sheer vulnerability that only momentarily passed over his face.

Bonds head snapped up and his eyes flit directly to Q's face, his body freezing in place. Q walked up to him with purpose and did the only thing that felt right, he kissed him. Bond didn't move, he stood stock still and didn't respond, but then he did. And it was raw and fumbling, testing and crushing all at once. There was kissing and suddenly Q was on his desk, suddenly Bond was kissing and grabbing every part of Q he could reach.

Bond pulled himself away, pressed a hand to his forehead and backed quickly out of the room.

Q sat back on his desk and lightly touched two fingers to his lips.

"That was an interesting development." he said and allowed himself a quick smile before he cleaned up his desk before getting back to work.


	6. Chapter 6

The first time Bond had checked in on him, he had made his way through the halls of the hospital and had suddenly found himself in front of the intensive care ward without any idea how he'd wound up there. He pushed open one of the modern looking double doors and walked into a room that stirred up memories of the medical ward at MI6, which a had always made him incredibly uncomfortable. The walls smelled of antiseptic, clinging to them like death and he hated the way the lights always made everything under them seem yellow, creating the appearance of sickness even on the rare occasions that there was none.

He stopped in front of a curtain and paused as he heard the beeping of machinery on the other side. He didn't want to pull the curtain, he shouldn't. But no-one had told his body that and he grasped at the curtain, pulling it aside to look at the person lying in the bed behind it.

He looked so small.

Bond stood and watched him for a few moments.

Then turned on his heels and walked out of the hospital.

* * *

The second time Bond had gone to visit him, he is more prepared. He walks with purpose to the area where he knows he'll find him. This time he brings flowers and he places them on the bedside table, pulling up a chair which he sits in abruptly. He places his head in his hands and just sits there.

He's never understood the people that sentimentally spoke to people in comas, he firmly believed that pretending he could hear him would only fuel his own hopeless delusions. Only hurt him in the end.

His hands were just lying there, so still on the crisp sheets of the bed. He'd never seen them so immobile before, they had always been in motion. They had always been typing away at his computer, grasping his scrabble cup filled with his favorite brand of Earl Grey tea, animatedly telling James about some kind of new gadget that he had made for his next mission. The talented hands that had once grasped at the lapels of his jacket and undid each button, one by one. He shook off the thought, shoving it from his mind. He pressed the palm of his hand to his eye and pushed to feel the pressure, feel the images faded from.

Then he gets up and walks away.

* * *

The third time Bond goes to visit him, he is incredibly drunk. He stumbles through the halls and remarkably makes his way past all the nurses and attendants somewhere in his mind he knows that M has probably warned them about him. Told them not to disturb the already disturbed. He is in a destructive mood, he wants to fight and kick and kill. Wants to feel something end between his hands. The second he steps into the room though, the destructive energy is gone, replaced with an emptiness that he feels deep within him.

He doesn't feel like sitting down this time, so he stands. He glances down at the man lying prone on the bed and suddenly he's struck with a massive wave of something that could only be called sentimentality. He reaches out and grabs one of the other man's hands in his shaking grasp.

"Hello," he says with his voice barely more than a whisper "I'm – I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to-"he pauses and runs his hand through his close-cropped hair. He feels utterly ridiculous but he continues nonetheless.

"Everything is falling apart without you," he says hoarsely, staring straight ahead at a point on the wall "They don't know how to function without you at MI6, nothing seems to run properly." Himself included. He thinks of the flat that they had spent so much time in, the kitchen cupboard completely bare, dead plants that had once thrived; the bed hadn't been touched since he had been admitted. He didn't feel the need to sleep.

"It wasn't supposed to work like this you know," he says quietly with the barest upward twitch of his lip "I was supposed to be the one in the hospital bed, you spend every day in front of a computer…my job is the dangerous one. How did you manage this, how did you manage to  ** _screw that one thing up so colossally_**?" He shouted at the wall and finally looked at the face of the man who had caused him to become this. So empty, yet filled to the brim with so much anger.

"How did you manage to screw it up Q?" he choked out. He looks at the man, tubes shoved down his throat and wires connected to his face and chest. The face he had once kissed every inch of, just because he could. Now he can't.

"Now who's the idiot?" he chuckles wetly.

And he feels the hand under his twitch.


	7. Chapter 7

\---

Bond has woken up and after his initial check of the room; his first and only thought was a pressing need for coffee. He was due at MI6 in two hours. The only problem he faced was the very heavy, pleasantly naked, Quartermaster who was currently curled up against him and the unfortunate side effect that it made it impossible for him to move. He groggily attempted to dislodge his arm from underneath Q's prone body, but it was a lost cause.

"Vesper, darling," he mumbled only vaguely coherent "you need to wake up and get off my arm." he said with a slight nudge to the other man.

Q's body tensed and his eyes shot open with a start. He lifted himself without thought so Bond could snake his numb arm out from underneath him. With that, Bond walked to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee and tea for his Quartermaster. He made quick work of it and within twenty minutes, was dressed and out the door. Leaving Q to, he assumed, sleep as he hadn't yet emerged from the bedroom.

\---

Bond had been rushed off on a mission the moment he'd stepped through the doors of MI6. He'd spent the last week or so in a dead run across Brazil and had finally interrogated the leader of a terrorist cell. With his mission successful he made his way back to London with only minor scrapes and bruises.

He walked through the halls of MI6 and had found his way to Q's office area. He searched through the expansive room for him, but he was seemingly nowhere to be found. Generally after a mission, Q was there with a smug little smirk and an annoying demand that he visit medical. Yet now he was nowhere to be found.

He asked a few of Q's minions where he could find him, but they were oddly silent and a few even glared at him. In his puzzlement, he thought perhaps M would know where he had gone, and began the trek to his office.

\---

He'd finally found Q walking out of the door that led to M's office. He looked annoyed and hadn't noticed Bond's presence until he had practically shouted at him.

"Q." He said with a quirk of the corner of his lip "I've been looking for you." he relaxed with relief that the other man was alright.

Q simply stared at him in disbelief before his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed in anger. It caught Bond off guard when he simply pushed past him and made his way down the hall.

Bond just watched in confusion, frozen in position as Q walked further and further away.

\---

He'd spent the last three days in that state of confusion, desperately trying to figure out what he had done but Q had stayed silent in his anger. He knocked on the door to the flat they had been cohabiting, spending hours trying to convince him to let him in. He could have picked the locks, which Q had apparently changed, but he didn't want to anger the other man further.

Finally on the fourth day Q turned to him with anger written on his face and dripping from his voice.

"Tell me about Vesper," he spat out, every word sounding like an accusation fired straight at Bond "Do I look like her, smell like her, do you fuck me the way you did her?" his eyes were alight with rage and his jaw taught with the effort of simply standing there.

"What are you talking about?" Bond said with confusion lacing his tone and a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Am I just some replacement for your dead lover?" he spat as he pushed James against a wall, arm pressing against his neck. It took no small amount of effort to not see him as a threat and immediately incapacitate him. He quickly calmed his senses and focused on the man currently glaring daggers at him. He had never seen Q this angry, normally he was aloof and snarky when he was pissed off. This Q was far past that point.

"You look, smell, and feel nothing like her." he said honestly and slowly. "What is this about?" he said when he saw Q look almost as confused as he was and released the pressure on his neck.

"The other day," he paused to glare at Bond once more "You called me by her name when you first woke up." He shifted his gaze from Bond to some point to the far left, his jaw still tense but his eyes looking oddly soft.

This was by far the strangest conversation Bond had had in months…and a few weeks ago he had hung a man upside down to demand he inform him of the location of a collectible glass monkey.

"I honestly have no recollection of that." He said noting the slight roll of Q's eyes, clearly he did not believe him. He thought back to before he had left on his mission, the morning which Q had not gotten out of bed before James had fled their flat. He desperately tried to figure out what could have possibly possessed him to ever call Q by his former lover's name. Everything about Q was new to him, his clear disinterest when they had first met, his vast intellect, his very male form, and definitely the way he felt about him. He just hoped he could express that without making the other man want to run in the opposite direction.

"I don't know why I would ever-," he paused and attempted to school his features into something that wasn't their current dismay "you're nothing like her. Nothing like anyone I've ever-" he stopped speaking, hoping that he was conveying the emotions that Q needed to see. He looked into his face and tried to convey his desperation. Q stared at him, his jaw slack and eyes wider than he'd ever seen them.

Then Q pounced on him, pressing both their bodies flush against the wall.

"If you ever call me by her name again," Q said between kisses "I will not hesitate to end you." Bond saw the anger in his eyes, a fierce possessiveness he'd never known Q to have.

The makeup sex was phenomenal.

 

"You look, smell, and feel nothing like her." he said honestly and slowly. "What is this about?" he said when he saw Q look almost as confused as he was and released the pressure on his neck.

"The other day," he paused to glare at Bond once more "You called me by her name when you first woke up." He shifted his gaze from Bond to some point to the far left, his jaw still tense but his eyes looking oddly soft.

This was by far the strangest conversation Bond had had in months…and a few weeks ago he had hung a man upside down to demand he inform him of the location of a collectible glass monkey.

"I honestly have no recollection of that." He said noting the slight roll of Q's eyes, clearly he did not believe him. He thought back to before he had left on his mission, the morning which Q had not gotten out of bed before James had fled their flat. He desperately tried to figure out what could have possibly possessed him to ever call Q by his former lover's name. Everything about Q was new to him, his clear disinterest when they had first met, his vast intellect, his very male form, and definitely the way he felt about him. He just hoped he could express that without making the other man want to run in the opposite direction.

"I don't know why I would ever-," he paused and attempted to school his features into something that wasn't their current dismay "you're nothing like her. Nothing like anyone I've ever-" he stopped speaking, hoping that he was conveying the emotions that Q needed to see. He looked into his face and tried to convey his desperation. Q stared at him, his jaw slack and eyes wider than he'd ever seen them.

Then Q pounced on him, pressing both their bodies flush against the wall.

"If you ever call me by her name again," Q said between kisses "I will not hesitate to end you." Bond saw the anger in his eyes, a fierce possessiveness he'd never known Q to have.

The makeup sex was phenomenal.

 

 


End file.
